“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Hannah said, teeth biting into her bottom lip as she glanced at her mother’s reflection standing in the mirror behind her own. “How do you know when you’ve found the one?”
“You just know,” shrugged her mother, stepping back to analysis the cut of Hannah’s hem before harrumphing and waving a hand to indicate she should turn around.
“And if I don’t feel it,” Hannah asked.
“Then we tell the shop assistant to bring you another and we see if that looks any better, it’s a dress dear, not the man you might marry.”